The Happy Prince
by kayly silverstorm
Summary: Companion piece to "When a Lioness Fights", taking place between Chapter 68 and 70. Draco is grieving, and when Harry tries to console him, unexpected things happen. Note: This is slash though not graphic . Not necessary to understand the main story!


A/N: This is a companion piece to my story 'When A Lioness Fights'. It is situated between chapter and 68 and 70 and fleshes out the possibility of HPDM-slash many of you have been asking for. I tried to write it so that it fits in seamlessly but can be ignored without hindering the understanding of the main story.

Just to remind you: Draco has returned to Hogwarts after finding Hermione alive and in the powers of Lucius Malfoy. In order to keep his cover, Hermione had triggered his Obliviate-protection, thus turning him into a loyal Death Eater. Severus just removed the spell from him and they have decided that they can't do anything to save Hermione. Draco has hidden in his chambers, refusing to talk to anyone.

Warning: This is slash. Nothing too graphic, but for those who have problems with these kinds of pairings – turn away! For all of you who have awaited this eagerly: Enjoy, and I hope you'll like it!

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**The Happy Prince**

Someone had removed the old yet servicable furnishings from Draco's room since Harry had last been here. In their stead, luxuries of every kind surrounded the Malfoy heir. Harry was pretty sure that he was seeing the influence of Narcissa Malfoy before him, and equally sure that Draco would have bragged and gloated about it in that half ironic, half proud way of his, had the circumstances been different.

Now, he barely raised his head from the arm it was resting on.

"Leave me alone," He said, no inflection at all colouring his voice.

"No," Harry refused quietly. He chose an intricately carved mahogany chair and settled down, determined to wait this out.

Draco ignored him. Not surprisingly, since showing someone the cold shoulder was one of the things he did best. This time, however, the effort was wasted on Harry, who strongly suspected that Draco simply lacked the strength to argue with him. It had, after all, been a very long week.

"Are you hurt?" He asked softly, trying to remember their duel and whether he had hit Draco with anything. He himself had dutifully reported to Madame Pomfrey after Draco had been sequestered away with Dumbledore and Severus to inform them of the last days' events. She had healed his superficial wounds, given him a pain reliever and, after one long look at his face, had added three bottles of Dreamless Sleep.

He hadn't looked in a mirror since.

"No," Draco answered, sounding scarily like Severus did these days. Harry waited patiently for the inevitable comment on his duelling skills, found the mocking remark on how he couldn't hit Draco even if he tried waiting on his own tongue, but Draco remained silent.

That worried him. Draco passing up on a chance to mock was something that had seldom happened, even over the last weeks.

"Hey, you don't have to be gentle with me," He joked, noticing at the same time how weak he sounded. "I'm the Boy Who Lived, you know. I thrive on challenges."

Draco didn't answer.

Minutes passed. Harry wasn't sure whether Draco wanted to out-silence him or whether he simply couldn't find the energy to talk, but it took an extraordinary long while for him to give up. Harry took it as a sign of how tired and depressed his friend really was, behind that expressionless surface.

Draco sighed. "What are you doing, Harry?" He asked softly, his head still turned towards the wall he had been staring at ever since Harry entered, the only bare stretch of wall left in the room.

"A friend of mine needs company," Harry answered lightly. "So I'm here."

"I'm not your friend," Draco snarled, and for a moment Harry felt the hurt that had spread through him just a few hours ago, when Draco had attacked him, just for a moment, before he understood.

"Yes, you are," He said, determinedly.

Draco snorted bitterly and inclined his head, strands of golden-white hair hiding his face.

"Friends don't attack their friends," He said tonelessly. "They don't try to kill them."

"That wasn't you, Draco," Harry offered, knowing that it would do no good.

"It was. The obliviate-persona was built from parts of me. It _is_me."

"It was built specifically to project a false image," Harry argued. "That makes it the opposite of you."

It felt weird to discuss such technicalities, and a part of his mind wondered whether he was simply still in shock, whether the news Draco had given them simply hadn't reached his brain yet. He hoped not. He didn't want to know what would happen when the reaction set in, then.

"I know what I am, Harry," Draco hissed, such self-loathing in his voice that Harry twitched in surprise. He stared at his friend, at a loss for words, but Draco just turned away again, resuming his examination of the bare wall.

"I know what you are, too," He said, trying to put all his conviction into the words. "You are the friend that helped me through the last weeks. The one that decided to visit his father even though he was afraid. Don't blame yourself because you were brave!"

"And that's where I went wrong," Draco whispered, still this awful hate of himself lingering behind his words. "I should have done the Slytherin thing and backed out while I could!"

Harry wasn't sure what to say to this. The concept of backing out was so alien to him that even the thought confused him. But perhaps that was just because in all of his years as Harry Potter, he had never had that chance. When things happened, he was usually at the very front, having only the choice between rushing forward or being crushed.

But he understood that Draco felt bad about what had happened, and, remembering how Draco had been there for him when Hermione had… (no, she had not died, they had just assumed that she had died and now everything was even worse), he simply settled lower in his chair and resumed waiting.

"It wasn't your fault," He ventured when it became clear that Draco had no intention of continuing. "You don't have to feel guilty."

"You just never give up, do you, Harry?" Draco whispered. "You won't leave me alone even if I sit here for days."

It didn't sound as if he was pleased about it.

"You're my friend," Harry repeated stubbornly, feeling wholly inadequate while at the same time knowing that this was the only real thing that mattered, the only argument he could use to explain himself. "And although you may not believe it at the moment, I know that you're a good person. Someone who does the right thing, no matter what it costs him. I won't leave you till you've seen that."

Silently, slowly at first, Draco's shoulders began to shake, and Harry wondered in frustration why the Slytherin was laughing at him, what he had done wrong to deserve scorn.

Then, Draco lifted his head and Harry saw the trails of wet on his cheeks, glittering silver in the firelight. Saw the pain in his grey eyes, the utter defeat. Saw the way his lips trembled with a truth he could not bear to speak.

"I crucioed her," Draco whispered, his voice not quite breaking.

"_What?"_

"I crucioed her," He repeated the words Harry could not understand, "She didn't even scream."

Draco took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I was in this dark place, hidden away inside my mind, but at the same time I was out there, arrogant and curious and utterly cold, and it was my hand that moved the wand, my mouth that spoke the words. She… she just looked at me, understanding, _so_loving, but the Draco that had taken over didn't even care. He just laughed.

"She didn't scream. Or cry. She just lay on that bed like a puppet, and the spell was twisting her this way and that way. She looked so fragile… so beautiful and frail… and then my father used a knife on her and all the blankets were coloured with her blood…"

Draco sobbed, all control forgotten now, sobbed like a small boy lost and all alone in his memories. He closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands.

"I crucioed her," He whispered, "I tortured Hermione. And the other part of me, the other Draco – he liked it."

Harry wanted to clasp his ears to not hear, wanted to rage and scream, to make Draco admit that it was untrue, to console him and take his pain away.

He didn't know how.

"That wasn't you," He said hoarsely, trying to sound confident and failing miserably.

Draco stood so abruptly that his chair toppled backwards with a crash and Harry flinched, too raw inside to find the sudden noise bearable.

"_My_hands did it!" Draco shouted. "_My_ wand! So tell me how that wasn't me, Potter! Try to find another of your neat little excuses that make the responsibility go away! Because I can't! I can't see anything anymore but her face, twisted with pain!"

Harry swallowed against the sudden dryness of his mouth. It didn't help.

"I…" He whispered, his voice vanishing into the desert that Draco's world had into.

"She was the one who took me from my father's path, my first real friend, and I CRUCIOED HER!"

Draco panted, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles shone white against his pale skin. The sound of his breathing seemed unnaturally loud in the total silence of the dungeons, and Harry suddenly wished for the students to return, for Mrs Norris to come sneaking around the corner. For anything that would relieve the unbearable tension of this moment.

"I am _just_ like my father," Draco finally whispered, and in the face of his tired resignation Harry's shock and horror simply melted away.

He knew the feeling that glittered in Draco's eyes right now. He remembered that place of hurt and loneliness and despair. He had felt just like that when Sirius had fallen through the veil, had had that mad knowledge of his own guilt slam into him and obliterate everything else.

Only that he had had Bellatrix and Voldemort to blame, even Severus. They had stood between him and his own guilt like the veil itself, haunting, nearly transparent and yet real enough to change everything.

Draco had nothing. Only the texture of Hermione's blood on his hands and the sound of her screams in his ears.

Harry shuddered. He wasn't made for a situation like this. He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake! Able to deal with a good cry on the shoulder or a clean wound, not this manylayered thing made up of pain and rage and guilt and sorrow!

And yet Draco, Slytherin to the core, had been there for him these past weeks, had stood at his side and shared his grief openly, against his nature, had moved so far into Gryffindor territory that the boundaries had blurred forever.

Harry took a deep breath and stood. Perhaps it was time to let go of these clichés and do what had to be done.

Perhaps it was time to grow up.

"You are my friend," He said slowly, clearly. He saw Draco's eyes widen as he walked towards him. "No matter what you did, no matter if you did wrong or didn't, you are my friend, and nothing you can say or do will make me judge or turn away from you. I don't care who your father is or what you were raised to be. I don't care what you _could_ be if you hadn't decided against it, and I'll stay right by your side until you have dealt with this. No matter how long it takes."

For a moment, Draco stood entirely still, his wide eyes and ragged breathing the only sign that he wasn't a statue.

Then, with a strangled sound that was a shout an a cry and a sob at the same time, Draco lunged forwards and grabbed Harry in a tight embrace, clung to him as he had done the day after Hermione had gone away forever.

Draco's arms were strong, his muscles hard and knotted and he was thrumming with tension.

But he had bridged the gap between them.

Harry sighed in relief and slung his arms around Draco, too, not sure what had happened but glad that what he had said had obviously made a difference.

He closed his eyes and dropped his chin on Draco's shoulder. They were nearly of the same height.

Draco in his arms trembled, and Harry softly rubbed circles on his friend's back, the way Hermione had often done when she had consoled Harry.

The trembling increased.

Harry turned his face to the side, to see if he could catch a glimpse of Draco's face, and found his nose buried in he soft, silky-white hair of his friend.

Without intending to, Harry took a deep breath. Draco smelled good. Of spices and something fresh, and his hair tickled Harry's nose like the softest of touches.

Draco was trembling all over now, and to show him that he wasn't alone, Harry strengthened his embrace, still breathing into that wonderfully smelling hair.

He felt Draco's arms tighten around him as well, and then a soft, low sound, not exactly like a sob, reached his ears.

"Harry, I…" Draco whispered, and again there was something new in his voice, something Harry couldn't name, but this time it made him feel warm all over.

Reluctantly, Harry let go of Draco's hair and moved back a bit, just so far that he could see his friend's face while still embracing him tightly.

What he saw made him shiver, too.

"Harry…"

Draco's eyes were still opened wide, as if he had been surprised greatly, but they were clouded by something entirely different now. His lips were red and swollen, from the way he had bit them, and his breath was quick, not the ragged effort it had been before, but still filled with another kind of tension.

His face was more open than Harry had ever seen it before. Harry couldn't even begin to understand what was written out as clearly on his friend's features as if they were a map to parts unknown.

And suddenly, Harry felt a warmth surging upwards inside his chest, felt all the barriers, all the dams the Dursleys and fate and his own fears had ever built burst, and the feeling that filled him, the joy and the tenderness and the _awe_ were indescribable.

Without thinking, without doubting for a moment that what he did was right, he leaned forward and captured Draco's soft, warm lips in a kiss.

It wasn't wet.

In fact, it wasn't any of the things Harry had expected a kiss to be after his scant experiences in fifth and sixth year. There was no doubt whether this was the sensible thing to do, no worry as to his performance, just this huge, all-encompassing feeling of clarity and warmth.

In all his life, Harry had never felt so right before. Not when Hagrid had handed him his Hogwarts letter and told him that he was a wizard, not when Sirius had offered him to be his godfather and take care of him. Not when he had learned the prophecy and understood that he had a destiny.

It was as if all these years, Harry had waited for this moment to become himself, had waited for this kiss to wake up to the world around him like the princess in the fairy tale.

Not that he was a princess. At the moment, he felt decidedly like a god.

Time seemed suspended, and Harry felt as if their kiss was stretching forwards and backwards, taking possession of all he had ever said and done and _changing_ it, turning him into something new.

His lips parted with a gasp and Draco's tongue danced into his mouth, doing things Harry had never expected a tongue could do, and the warmth inside him changed to fire, burning so hot and burning that Harry wasn't sure what it would do to his body. He didn't care.

When their kiss stopped, the world had changed.

They met each other's eyes, their arms still slung around each other in a strong embrace, and there was no need to talk. They had said everything already.

After a long moment of exchanged looks, they moved to Draco's couch, and Harry found to his surprise that they were holding hands, not in the way couples from school were holding hands, softly and teasingly and ready to let go at any moment.

_Their_ hands were entwined like roots, as if the mere thought of ever letting go again was just unthinkable. In fact, Harry found that he really _couldn't _think it. In the short moment it had taken their lips to meet, a paradigm shift had taken place. Everything hereafter would stand in the light of this kiss. Of what it meant.

"Seems as if I finally found a way say what I really mean," Harry joked softly and Draco chuckled, but his eyes were still on Harry and Harry alone, watching him like a miracle that had suddenly happened in front of him.

They were silent for a long while, then, content to watch each other. Harry felt oddly fascinated by the way the fire's light played on Draco's face and hair. Silence had never felt quite this good before.

"I'm still feeling guilty," Draco finally announced, and Harry nodded, accepting this as a fact. It would be a long time before Draco would really cope with his part in this, but the way he talked, the way he met his eyes convinced Harry that the worst was over.

Strange, how easy it was to accept things all of a sudden. As if their kiss had revealed a huge well of strength inside him that he could draw from. As if it had consoled him with the world.

"We have time," Harry answered, and it was both an answer and a promise.

And Draco nodded and smiled, his hand tightening its hold around Harry's.

"You know that we can't take this into the open until Halloween," Draco then said. "Hermione's disappearance nearly shattered the Order. We cannot afford any distraction."

Harry nodded calmly. This wasn't a rejection. In this moment of uncompared clarity, he knew that he would never have to be afraid of rejection again. Not from Draco.

"The Order wouldn't be able to deal with us," This 'us' made him shiver with pleasure. "They couldn't even deal with Hermione and Severus."

Draco nodded his agreement, his thumb softly stroking Harry's hand without thinking.

"They see you as your leader," He said simply. "When you have killed Voldemort, there will be time enough for them to see you as a man."

He took a deep breath and fell silent, as if he wanted to savour the moment and conserve it for all eternity.

"This will be waiting for us when it is done," He said, and Harry smiled, proud and happy and glad at the same time.

"I think I love you," He whispered.

He didn't have to say it.

But he found that he wanted to.

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**A/N:** The title refers to a fairy tale by Oscar Wilde. It's sad and beautiful and you should read it by all means.

Review!!!


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